


Darkroom

by GALEXY



Series: Evil Within Self-Insert [1]
Category: The Evil Within (Video Game)
Genre: Blood Kink, Dominance, F/M, I REGRET NOTHING, Knife Play, Oral Sex, Please Don't Ask, Rough Sex, Self-Insert, Sexual Tension, Smut, Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-03-20 17:43:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18997426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GALEXY/pseuds/GALEXY
Summary: “Despite your compliments,” his voice purred against your ear, hand trailing down your throat and against your collar, staining the neckline of your shirt. “I do still need to punish you for sneaking into my darkroom.”Stefano the Art Hoe is Dominant and Aggressive in Bed.





	Darkroom

**Author's Note:**

> A Self-Insert I Wrote for theevilwithindirtyconfessions blog on tumblr featuring none other than Art Hoe, Stephano Valentini. First time I wrote kink this heavily. Not my usual schtick, but I thought I'd post it in case someone wanted to read it.
> 
> Let me know what you thought? If you liked it?

You hadn’t meant to fall asleep in the sitting room. It had just sort of happened while you were waiting for Stefano to come home. It was the chiming of the clock that woke you up, book still dangling from your grip, eyes still heavy. You sat up, rubbing your eyes as you looked around the room. It was dark except for the lamp that hovered behind your shoulder. You ran your fingers through your hair and closed your book, setting it on the coffee table and standing up to stretch.

Stefano’s session for his latest project must’ve run late tonight; the sky had blackened since you dozed off. He was normally back by now.

You started to head upstairs to slither into bed and wait for him there, when you noticed that the door to his darkroom was ajar, faint red light spilling into the black of the hall.

“Weird.” You whispered aloud, crossing to close it. It wasn’t like him to just leave to door to his darkroom open. He kept all his work in there.

            You reached for the knob, but stopped when one of the prints exposed by the open door caught your eye. It was still hanging from a close pin to dry from having developed it. From here, it was hard to see. You stepped inside for a closer look.

            The photograph was difficult to make out in the dark. It was a woman, you thought, but her body was split. Sharp slivers of light cut into the photo from different angles. Here hair was arranged in such a way that you couldn’t see her face. But the photo itself reminded you of the crime scene photos of Elizabeth Short after she’d been dubbed “Black Dahlia”. It was quite good, you thought. A little more disconnected and experimental that Stefano’s usual work, but it was always interesting to see him moving in a different direction.

            “ _Mia Bella_.”

            You jumped in surprise, turning to see Stefano standing in the doorway, still holding his briefcase.

            “I-“

            He tsked, waving his finger at you before setting down his briefcase and tugging off his scarf, stepping closer. “How many times have I told you not to come in here without permission?”

            “I just came to close the door.” Your face flushed as he came into your space. You looked at the floor. “That’s all.”

            “I didn’t ask why you were in here.” He tipped your chin up with gloved fingertips. They were wet as they slid against your skin, and your nose was greeted with the smell of copper from his latest shoot. “I asked you how many times, _mia bella?_ ”

            You blinked slowly. “Several.”

            He tsked again, letting go of your chin and taking a step back. “You know that my work is incredibly sensitive.”

            You nodded obediently, looking back down at the floor. “I like the one I saw.” You glanced at it over your shoulder before looking back at him. The shadows in the room obscured most of his face. “It’s different from your usual work. Beautiful, like always.”

            “Is that so?” You could hear the smile creep over his mouth with his words. “You’re the only one who’s ever truly understood.”

            His gloved fingers were trailing up your throat, the slick coppery sliding against your skin. You tipped your head back and bit back a gasp. It was still warm, either from his recent kill or your own heat creeping through your skin.

            “Despite your compliments,” his voice purred against your ear, hand trailing down your throat and against your collar, staining the neckline of your shirt. “I do still need to punish you for sneaking into my darkroom.”

            You want to bite back an argument, but his gloved fingers slide back up, tightening against your throat and preventing any response outside of a hitch in your breath.

            “Because you know better, don’t you?”

            He lightens up the pressure on your throat just enough for you to rasp out a faint “yes.”

            “‘yes’ what?” He tightens his fingers for a moment before loosening again for you to speak.

            “Yes, sir.” You rasp out before his teeth graze against your throat and he licks a stripe up against your skin.

            “Good girl…” he purrs before sliding his tongue against your mouth. You feel the metallic taste swirl against your tongue. You press back against him, opening your mouth wider, begging. You reach to wrap your arms around his shoulders, but he catches your wrists with his other hand and pins them above your head.

            “You aren’t supposed to enjoy it.” His voice his sharp. He’s looking into your face now, but you can hardly make out his good eye in the darkness. The hair that hangs in his face is brushing your cheek. “It’s a punishment.”

            His gloved fingers tighten on your throat again before he lets go, trailing the damp leather down your shirt, staining it with rust-colored streaks that look black in the darkroom. Your back arches into his touch, wrists struggling against his grip.

            “Yes, sir.” You gasp out. He backs your further against the counter, reaching for his discarded scarf. He releases your wrists, pushing your shirt over your head, tossing it to some shadow corner of the room. You’re tempted to reach for him; to trace your fingers through his blood-dampened hair and find all the other soiled parts of him. But he caught your wrists moments into their freedom and forced them behind your back and tying them back with the blood-soaked cloth.

            “There we go.” His voice comes out in a purr. “Now my hands are free.”

            Your face flushes, but you don’t speak.

            He trails his hands over your skin, leaving a few more rusty streaks behind. He’s wiped off nearly all the blood onto your body by the time he reaches the waist of your jeans, swirling his thumb against the button. You let out a whimper of frustration. Stefano is notorious for his teasing.

            He runs his fingers back up, tracing your naval before he pulls away, stepping back and tipping his head to the side, studying you. Your wrists fidget unconsciously in their tied state and he lets out a hiss of disappointment.

            “Stay still.”

            “But, sir—“

            “Stay.” His voice is dangerously sharp. “Still.”

            Nervous excitement bubbles in your stomach when he reaches for his camera. You’ve always been aware of his…eccentricities. But something about the camera made you particularly nervous. You knew what he did to get his photographs, even if you’d never seen him in action. You wanted to someday, of course, but not first hand.

            He chuckled at the look in your eyes.

            “Calm down, _mia bella_ ,” there was a flash as he took your picture. “Today isn’t the day I turn you into art. I’m still getting ideas for that.”

            You nod once, letting out a steady exhale. He snaps a few more, taking them from different angles before he sets his camera down.

He approaches again, this time taking hold of you by your hair, guiding you onto your knees. You went obediently, looking up at him as you did.

“Good girl.” He cooed, trailing his finger through your hair and down your jaw gently. He pulled your head forward, guiding your mouth against the zipper of his slacks. You could smell him through his clothes. The musk of the day mixed with the copper from work. You took his zipper in your teeth and slid it down slowly. He released the back of your head only to undo the button of his slacks and help you to ease his slacks off. His underwear came off too, and there he was, standing at attention centimeters from your mouth.

“Go on.” He runs his fingers through your hair again before tugging sharply. “Be good, _mia bella_.”

You look up at him, tipping your head to the side a little before offering a small smile and taking the head into your mouth. Stefano purrs, tugging on your hair sharply as he leans back against the wall. You let out a muffled whine at the tug of your hair before sweeping more of him into your mouth. Normally, you’d use your hands, too. You tug at your bonds a little behind your back, but he only takes hold of your shoulders and gives you a warning look.

“I said be good.” He growls, tugging your hair again, forcing you to look up at him. “Punishment, remember? Don’t get any ideas.”

You blink twice in agreement before going back to the task at hand, bobbing your head, rolling your tongue, and humming so that he keeps pulling your hair. When he hits the back of your throat, your nose brushes the damp curls against his skin and you breathe him in before looking back up at him.

He tightens his grip on your hair and you hum against his skin from the tug. You can feel his pulse in your mouth; smell the copper on his skin. You slide off, running your tongue along his veins before taking him back in. The weight and heat filling your mouth makes your toes curl.

He growled, tugging your hair sharply, pulling you away to look up at him. You gasped, mouth hanging open as he came over your face. Some of it landed in your mouth, but most of it streaked over your skin. His fingers shook in your hair lightly before he pulled you back up by your hair. Your legs had gone a little numb, but you complied.

Then he was kissing you, rough and demanding. Bitter salt and copper mixed in your mouth as he cupped your jaw, forcing you tight against him with his other hand at your back. He untied your wrists slowly. You flexed them behind your back a moment before draping them over his shoulders and threading your fingers into his hair.

He chuckled, pushing you back gently. “Don’t get used to being free. I’m not done with you yet.” He bit your chin playfully.

You whimpered lightly and nodded, looking up into his face.

He ran his tongue along your jaw before biting your ear. “Shall we go upstairs?”

Even if he was asking, you knew better than to say no. You nodded, and he threaded his fingers through yours, leading you from his darkroom and up the stairs. He pushed you through the bedroom door wordlessly, kissing your deeply as your knees hit the back of the bed. You tightened your grip against his shoulders, fisting the fabric of his coat.

He chuckled, pulling out and tipping his head to the side before taking hold of your shoulders and pushing you to lay back on the bed. You hit it with a bounce, gasping lightly as he hovered over you; one knee pressed at your side and an arm on either side of your head.

“Look at you…” he purred, biting the finger of one of his gloves to tug it off before tracing it over a streak of dried blood on your stomach. “So dirty.”

He brought the finger of his gloved hand against your mouth and tapped your lips, indicating he wanted you to open up. You bit into the glove gently, holding it your teeth as he slid his hand from it.

“Good girl…” he purred, extracting the glove and letting his fingers trace your mouth.

He pulled his fingers away, reaching behind him to grab—

A tingle shot through your spine; your mouth watered and you let out a whine as he traced the blade of his knife across your cheek. You brought your tongue out to flick over the blade, and Stefano let out a hiss, watching you without blinking.

The knife kept on down its path from your neck to your collar bones. You closed your eyes, focusing on the sharp chill that followed the blade of the knife—where it pressed, the sound it made as it scraped your skin.

You felt it trace the fabric of your bra, along the cups and down the middle before—

_Slice._

_Pop._

You gasped as your bra came open from a rather decisive slice. Stefano twirled the blade in his fingers, smirk crossing his mouth.

You let out a whine, looking at the remnants. “I liked that one..”

“I’ll buy you a new one.”

His teeth came down to graze your skin and you let out a moan. His knife traced over your stomach; the blade sliding over your skin with a delicious friction. You brought your hands to tangle into his hair, gripping the damp locks and letting them slide through your fingers.

He chuckled and pulled up, raking his eyes over you.

“I wish I hadn’t left my camera downstairs.” He traces his knife back up your stomach. “What a lovely piece of art you’d make, _mia bella_.”

You whimpered, pushing at his coat.

He chuckled, rolling it from his shoulders and dropping it onto the floor. But you wanted his shirt off, too.

Before you could reach, he tsked at you, pinning your wrists up over your head while delicately guiding the tip of his knife down your ribs. Your back arched up, pressing the point of the blade harder against your skin and causing a faint, metallic trail that looked black in the light of the room to spill down your sides and onto the sheets.

Stefano chuckled again, leaning down to lick up the trail in one swoop. You let out a hiss, your eyes rolling back as he went for a second swipe.

“Stefano, I—”

“What’s the rush?” He traced his tongue up the side of your neck, biting down on your ear. The knife was at your hip bone now, the tip rolling in teasing circles. His eyelids lowered once he pulled up to look at you. “I’m nowhere near done with you yet.”

The knife slides down your side, slicing the buttons from your skirt before tugging it down with the hilt. He gives your panties the same treatment he gave your bra, slicing them open with the tip of his knife on either side of your thighs.

You should have been used to him destroying your clothes by now.

The last are your shoes, which _thankfully_ he unbuckles like a normal person and slides them delicately from your feet.

And like that, you’re naked and lying sprawled before him while he remains near-completely clothed. You suspected that this was a preference he had, considering that it happened so often.

The knife is on the other hip now, swirling delicately. He pressed the point in again, causing another coppery trail to spill over your skin and onto the sheets. He swiped that one up too, humming softly as he does. He doesn’t have hold you’re your wrists anymore, so your hands come down to grip his hair, pulling as he licked back up your hip.

“Stefano, please…” You wished he would just get on with it—your arousal was starting to make you ache. “Please, I…I need…”

He slid the knife down further, then the hilt was pressing up against you, sliding against your wetness. You let out a gasp, throwing your head back. Stefano bit down into your hip, purring in the back of his throat as you kept a tight hold on his hair. He was hardly even pressing with the hilt of his knife, just brushing up and down your entrance and over your clit.

It didn’t take you long before you were panting—legs wantonly spread with your knees up over his shoulders as he rolled the rounded edge of the hilt against you, his teeth working in small nibbles across your hips and over your thighs.

When the hilt slips in, barely an inch into you—this is the only reason he’d fashion himself a knife with such a phallically shaped hilt—you find your self rocking against the hilt, pressing it further into you.

Stefano pushes your hair back up off your forehead, taking hold of it, curling it up in his fist before allowing you to rock yourself further down on the hilt.

“Do you like that, _mia bella_?” he purrs against your jaw.

An incoherent sound comes from your mouth.  He chuckles and pulls your head back by the hair, tipping your jaw up so he can kiss you. You go back to work on getting his clothes off—working his buttons open as quickly as you can before he stops you. You slide your handsbeneath the open collar of his shirt, moving up to his shoulders so you can push his shirt off. He only lets go of your hair and the hilt of the knife to let you push it from him.

Once his hands are free, he presses the hilt of the knife in farther.

“Ahn…” Your eyes cinch shut, and he licks a stripe up your throat as he works the hilt in and out of you.

“St-Ste-fa-fan-o~!” You hiss, arching your hips up against the hilt while he fucks you with it. He rolls his thumb against your clit, the hilt buried two and a half inches or so inside. He leaves it there, continuing to abuse your clit with his thumb while he nibbles and sucks along your clavicles.

You feel your orgasm coiling in your stomach. Your hips bucked up hard, but before you could cum, he slid the knife from you and let up on your clit—pulling his hand away from you completely.

You let out a whine, looking up at him, but he only smirked, cleaning off the hilt of the knife with his tongue.

“Not without me, you aren’t.”

You let out another whine, nodding, obeying. It’s better for you if you obey.

He stands, sheathing the knife back where it belongs before grabbing you by the hip and flipping you over in one motion. He pulls your hips back, taps your ass once indicating he wants it up in the air for him.

And you obey, biting against the sheets a little with how exposed you feel from this. You hear his slacks unzip and—

Graciously, graciously he’s inside you.

 _Finally_. Your mind purrs out, biting down on the sheets while you squeal and moan as he rocks into you.

His voice comes out in a purr, his fingertips sweeping down your spine.

“You still feel so good for me, _mia bella_.”

His fingers finish their walk up your spine and sink into your hair, tugging hard and pulling you in rhythm so you rock back against him.

Neither of you last long like that—what with his shark tugs on your hair and violet, hand shaped bruises that’ll be on your hips and ass in the morning.

You collapse down onto the sheets, letting go of the sheets with your teeth, and he scoops you like a ragdoll, laying your head back against the pillow before he leans down to kiss you.

Its almost sweet how gentle he’s being. You’re nearly too tired to notice. He leaves to shower and when your legs stop feeling like jello, you sit up to take care of the ruined clothing and sheets.

He smiles when he comes back, towel around his waist, another on his shoulders.

“You remembered.”

You nod and his mouth brushes briefly against the back of your neck before he finishes drying off and crawls into bed. You shower after him, and he’s asleep by the time you’re done. Something you’ve always thought was strange about Stefano is how he looks exactly the same when he sleeps—never truly relaxed.

But nonetheless you still dry off and crawl into bed next to him, reminding yourself that breaking into the darkroom still isn’t all that bad an idea if this will be the result.


End file.
